Ethan remained on his knees as the words sank in.

Favour.

He looked at the silhouette of the old man, who stood facing nothing at all and staring into the whiteness.

Ethan noted his white hair falling past the rims of his blue-trimmed robe and the gnarled staff he had planted by his feet in the void. The old man had not bothered to turn back yet.

’What kind of favour could I possibly do for someone who claims to be a god.’

The question was understandable and even obvious in a certain way.

For what could someone of his age and power, capable of creating portals and speaking about mortality the way most normal people spoke about the weather, need help from a young man barely out of his twenties, whose life was marked by failure and lack of confidence.

Ethan was not sure what this old man needed from him.

But the vision of his ill sister lying in the hospital bed was still clear and persistent in his mind.

He didn’t need to know what the favour was.

Gradually, he pressed his hand to the surface of the floor and straightened up. His legs went stiff. Ethan found himself standing, despite the empty feeling that still gripped him inside.

"What can I do for you?" Ethan asked.

To his own surprise, his voice sounded rather determined. There was a certain quality in it, but not the usual courage. It reminded him of that special state when a person has reached bottom and can only move forward.

"I will do anything."

The old man stayed still for a brief moment. Then he slowly began to turn around.

He gazed at Ethan, studying him through his colorless eyes, looking as if he could see right through him. A soft sound came from the depths of the man’s throat.

"Hmmm."

He began to walk, measuring each step and tapping the ground with his staff. Coming closer to Ethan until he was standing right in front of him, close enough for Ethan to discern the countless wrinkles and cracks etched into his face, which spoke of centuries gone by.

Reaching out with his hand, the old man rested it on Ethan’s shoulder.

"I want you," he started, "to go into another world and save it for me."

Silence.

"Can you do that?"

Ethan stared at him.

He had understood everything he was saying, each word on its own. But together, they created something that confused him.

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked cautiously.

The old man withdrew his hand from Ethan’s shoulder and slowly walked around the white void, continuing his slow movement as if it helped him gather his thoughts, or perhaps he simply did not feel the need to stand still for anyone.

"Do you remember," he continued, "the novels you used to read? Specifically - the ones about reincarnation and transmigration."

Ethan was taken aback by what the old man said. The memory surfaced before he could decide whether he wanted it to - late nights in his home when his parents were still alive, back before everything collapsed.

Back then, when his life was easier and he could spend hours on indulgence and entertainment. Those novels appealed to him for some reason. Ordinary men and women in fantastic worlds, getting a chance to live again. Second chances dressed up as catastrophe.

He had not read one for a while now.

"Yes," Ethan said slowly. "I remember." Something clicked inside his mind. "Are you saying - you’re going to reincarnate me? Into another world?"

The old man stopped walking and faced Ethan.

For the first time since the beginning of this bizarre conversation, a new expression appeared on his face. The corners of his lips quivered slightly.

He smiled.

"That is right." The old man showed a slight gesture with his hands as if spelling out the words. "I am going to send you into a world called Veltharion - a world of magic, of wands, and of power greater than anything you have ever seen." The smile lingered. "And I want you to save it."

Ethan took it in.

"And when you are done," the old man went on, resting both hands on the head of his staff - "I will bring you back to your world, to your sister. Not a single second will have passed there. It will be as though you never left."

A silence, different from the previous ones, fell.

Not the heavy, stifling silence of grief - something much more complicated. Ethan stood in it and considered all the angles of this offer.

Then a crease appeared between his eyebrows.

"But what am I supposed to save this world from?" he asked carefully. "What is the threat? Who is behind it? What am I stepping into?"

The old man hesitated for a moment.

"I cannot tell you this," he answered.

"Why not?" Ethan retorted, raising his voice involuntarily. "How can you expect me to save this world without knowing what is trying to destroy it? This is not a piece of information; this is nothing. You are expecting me to do everything blindly."

"You will eventually figure it out," the old man said calmly, showing no signs of distress. "You will see it for yourself. All I can say now is this:" he inclined his head a little to the side - "you have to save it."

Ethan glared at him for a while.

Then he slowly dragged his palm down his face.

The old man looked at him patiently.

"So do we have a deal?"

He offered his palm in Ethan’s direction - an ordinary gesture which meant sealing an agreement.

Ethan looked at his hand.

Thought about the hospital, about the bills and about the medical treatment which still seemed impossible. About his sister, whom he felt frightened he might never see again.

Thought about how he had no other choice but to agree.

Slowly, he extended his hand and wrapped his fingers around the old man’s palm, gripping the hand hard.

They shook hands once.

"We have a deal."